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A once spoiled rich man's son endures the hardships of the Chinese Civil War and the Cultural Revolution but emerges with his love of life intact. |
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GOLDSEA | ASIAN BOOKVIEW | FICTION
To Live
a novel by Yu Hua
Anchor, New York, 2003, 256 pp, $13
EXCERPT:
orty years ago my dad would often stroll back and forth across this land. He would be wearing a black silk outfit and would always have his hands clasped behind his back. Just as he went out, he'd tell my mother, "I'm going out to take a walk around the property."
The moment the workers saw Dad strolling around his land they would hold their hoes with both hands and respectfully call out, "Master."
When my dad went into the city, all the city people would call him "sir". My dad was of very high social status, but every time he squatted down to take a shit he was just like a poor man. He never liked relieving himself in the house on the chamber pot next to the bed. Just like the animals, he liked shitting out in the open. Every day as dusk would near, dad would let out a belch -- the sound was almost exactly the same as that croaking sound that frogs make. Then he would step outside and slowly walk toward the manure vat.
When he got there he'd be annoyed that the side of the vat was dirty. He'd raise his leg and climb up, squatting on top. My dad was old and his shit was getting older with him; it was harder and harder to force out. Our whole family would hear his grunting and groaning coming all the way from the vat.
For decades my dad always shit like this. When he got to be over sixty he was still able to climb up there and squat for a long time. His legs had as much strength as the talons of an eagle. My dad liked to watch the sky gradually change color until the darkness enveloped the farmland. When my daughter, Fengxia, was three or four she would often run out to the edge of the village to watch grandpa taking a shit. Dad was really old by then. When he squatted up on the manure vat his legs would tremble a bit, and Fengxia would ask him, "Grandpa, why are you shaking?"
[CONTINUED BELOW]
"It's just the wind blowing," Dad would reply.
At the time our family circumstances had yet to take a turn for the worse. Our family had over one hundred mu of land. The land from here all the way to the factory's chimney over there was owned by my family. Near and far, my father and I were known as the old and young rich masters. When we walked, the sound our shoes made was like the sound of coins clanking against each other. My wife, Jiazhen, was the daughter of the owner of the rice store in the city. She was also born into a rich family. A wealthy woman marries a wealthy man -- it's like piling all the money up. The sound of money pouring down on top of money -- it's been forty years since I've heard that sound.
I'm the prodigal son of the Xu family -- or, as my dad would say, I'm a bastard. I studied for a few years at an old-style private school. When the schoolteacher, wearing the traditional long gown, called on me to read a paragraph aloud, it was my happiest moment. I stood up, holding my string-bound edition of "The Thousand Word Essay," and announced to my teacher, "Listen good now! Daddy's going to read to you!"
The next time he saw my father, my teacher, who was really getting on in years, told him, "I guarantee you that when that son of yours grows up, he'll be nothing but trouble."